Being pronounced guilty by association is one of the most unfortunate of all crimes. Just ask Bobby Wratten and Michael Hiscock of fey late '80s indie outfit THE FIELD MICE. Their fate as a result of signing to Bristol label Sarah Records was to be summarily dismissed by nasty reviewers like myself who were far too busy being turned on by the dawn of Madchester and the rumblings from an embryonic Seattle to take notice of a band who were labelmates with perennial limp-wristed underachievers like 14 Iced Bears and (yuk!) The Flatmates. Piss off and take your Pooh Sticks bootlegs with you, we suggested to The Field Mice en masse.
Fifteen years later, of course, plenty of dirty water has since passed under the bridge and - thanks to the ever-generous Mr.James Nice at LTM - your reviewer finally has the opportunity to atone for having so rashly written off a band who, with hindsight, actually seemed to have quite a lot going for them.
The Field Mice existed for a mere blip in historical terms (1988 to the tail end of 1991) and actually hailed from Mitcham, south London: not Bristol at all, like I'd for so long dumbly assumed because of the Sarah connection. Their three albums have been re-issued with attendant singles and rarities by LTM and each represents a distinct chapter in the band's career.
"Snowball" was The Field Mice's debut album released on Sarah in August 1989. Yes, it adheres broadly to the de rigeur jangly indie pop being spewed forth in the wake of The Wedding Present's debut album, but hindsight demonstrates that there was plenty going on in Wratten and Hiscock's songs that made them stand out on their own and that the duo were also pretty keenly attuned to the dance-related developments of the day.
Opening track and long-term fan favourite "Let's Kiss And Make Up" (later covered by St.Etienne) backs up this unlikely statement. While it's easy to understand the New Order/ Wake comparisons that followed The Field Mice around from this track, it's also obvious Wratten and Hiscock were paying attention to the rise of acid house and the low-key dance beats that muscle their way in prop up the song's enduring, naive charm to great effect. It's an area the band would explore in more depth on second album "Skywriting", but let's not get ahead of ourselves for now.
Besides, "Snowball" has further surprises up its' sleeve. "White"s tumultuous guitar avalanche is much more reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine than Talulah Gosh and while the ghost of New Order again hovers over closing track "Letting Go"s expansive six minutes, it's ultimately a thing of fragile wonder all its' own, with Bobby's usual Mark Gardener-esque tones reduced to a Vini Reilly-style snowstorm whisper.
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Once you've got over these shocks, you will admittedly find that the remainder of the songs are typically jangly, lovelorn affairs, but - crucially - fully-formed and emotional things in their own right that don't wither on the vine thanks to negative association. "End Of The Affair", for instance, isn't directly related to Graham Greene, but is a classic indie weepie and an ache of a song embellished by ( I assume) producer Ian Catt's beguiling keyboards. When Wratten sniffs through the lines "Once I needed you so, now I can't stand being in the same room as you" it's enough to melt the hardest of hearts. "Couldn't Feel Safer," meanwhile, is the other side of the lyrical coin, with Bobby revelling in the chorus of "I always feel this way, that no harm can come to me when I'm in your company" and enjoying the delirious rush of the music set up by Hiscock's flutter-by bassline.
This being LTM, we're also treated to the full array of non-album singles, B-sides and EP tracks that The Field Mice released in the 12 months prior to their debut and again there are hidden gems. Like The Divine Comedy and I Am Kloot, the band were huge in France, and "Sensitive" was the single that laid the foundations for this success. It's here in its' full five-minute glory and its' serrated guitars and fearless crescendo-building is hugely attractive.
Ironically, a few of the other tunes from this vintage like the shambly, post-C86 pop of "Fabulous Friend" and the namby-pamby loser anthem "I Can See Myself Alone Forever" are reminiscent of the spineless also-rans The Field Mice were later lumped in with, but their inclusion only makes you realise that with "Snowball" up and rolling, The Field Mice had begun to thrive in their self-styled pop environment. And, as we'll see, there were better things still to come.
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